Run Away
by ChaosLydia
Summary: Canada skates out his frustrations from the loss to America in hockey. England joins him


**I haven't written fanfiction in years honestly. I have major reason why I don't write fanfiction very often, but I've been so inspired by Hetalia I couldn't avoid it. There are several stories I want to write when I have free time: some of them are long and others are one shots. But this is a one shot. There isn't enough England/Canada love in the world.**

**I was inspired by one of my favorite songs and band in the world. I highly suggest you listen to the song as you read this fic. This is not a song fic, but it helps set the mood and it's what Matt and Arthur skates to. You can go to youtube and look up "Run Away" by Live featuring Shelby Lynne:  
**

www. youtube .com/ watch?v=dQpALFST-8o

In theory, you start listening to the song once Matt turns it on and you should be at the end when the song ends. I tried to write it like that.

**I here by offer my first fanfic that I've written in about 7 years. Please enjoy!**

Matt stepped out onto the ice and glided to the middle of the rink. Earlier that day, his boys lost terribly to Alfred's team in hockey. It was embarrassing, and the entire world watched his country lose in the sport that he invented. Of course Alfred tried to be kind about the win, understanding how upset Matthew was. The Canadian thanked him deep down. If that brat had uttered one obnoxious phrase, Matt would have punched him in the face.

He kneeled down and ran his fingers along the ice, savoring the slick, newly formed layer. It was his home, his comfort, his first love. Standing, Matt observed the empty stadium around him, now dark, that had been flooded with red and white fans. The screams rumbled against the rafters, and the pride they had surged through Canada himself, welling him to the brink of tears. Then in an hour and half, they were silenced. The same silence surrounded Matt now, though in his mind he could still hear the skates scrapping the ice, the grunts as the players checked each other into the boards, the hearts of his players fighting with all their might beating in Canada's own ears. His people fighting for their own pride just as hard as they fought in 1812, 1943, and 2006. But he needed to break this silence; it was far too deafening.

Taking out a small remote from his pocket, Matt clicked the play button, and the song started. One of his favorite songs began, the beat strong enough to push the Canadian forward. He started with a simple glide to grasp his own feelings, to smooth them over as he passed over the new ice. The vocals of Ed Kowalczyk brought a small grin to his lips, the husky voice reminding him of a certain Englishman who sang as he butchered food for the morning meal.

As Shelby Lynne entered the lyrics and the chorus echoed against the empty seats, Matthew Williams broke into a hard sprint, zigzagging his way across the ice. He threw his arms out, dancing angrily against the soothing beat. The frustration seeped from his core out to his limb as he tugged them close into a tight, fast spin. Twisting, turning, he suddenly broke the spin and glided into the second verse just off the beat, making his own syncopations.

Closing his eyes, Matt threw his arms out to his side. The wind whipped his hair around his face, and a grin spread across his drying lips. Suddenly, a pair of leather gloved hands slid into his bare ones.

Matt squeaked and spun around. There were those blazing eyes, a fiery green reflecting years of piracy, war, and long nights of sipping tea. Those eyes Matt loved so much. Those eyes whom he couldn't be with not matter how much they yearned for each other.

Arthur didn't need to speak. They understood each other too well for words. Holding out his hand once more, he relished the Canadian's slender fingers as they slid between his own. The second chorus of the song cued up and they were off.

Never breaking their grip, they danced, twirled, spun together. They pulled each other close for a quick nuzzle on the cheek, before pushing away to whip around a corner. Never once did they lose a beat. Slowing, their lips brushed. Speeding up, Arthur released Matt, watching in awe as the Canadian threw out a triple axle that rivaled the Olympics athletes who were competing. But once more they were together, holding each other at arms length. In the final chorus, they danced wildly, laughing together, never slipping. Feral emotions bleed from their bodies as they slowed into a gentle glide, Arthur behind Matt supporting his once colony. The Englishman trailed kissed on the Canadian's bare neck, groaning against the sweet scented skin.

The last words trailed away and Matt turned in Arthur's arms. Wrapping around his body, Matt kissed Arthur with all the energy he had left from the day: the frustration from the game, the want for this man, the fear of being caught with him. The silence settled once more as the last refrains of the guitar finished echoing off their bodies. The only sounds left were their hearts throbbing in their ears.

Breaking the kiss, Matt rested his head on Arthur's shoulder and shut his eyes. "Arthur?"

"Yes?" the Englishman answered, his voice breathy.

"We can't tell Gilbert."

"We never do, Matthew."

**Please read and review.**


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